


wait for it

by chii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: Keith was always willing to wait for Shiro. The problem is he waited too long.





	wait for it

**Author's Note:**

> technically this is "fix it fic" in that there's more that's unposted but until it is posted, note the warnings and tags.  
> the term for this fic is "disappoinspired" where you're so disappointed with canon you're inspired to really reach to justify it, but also subsequently UNDO IT. this is my attempt at justifying how s8 happened and where things go from there. 
> 
> lord.

Patience yields focus. 

Shiro probably didn’t intend for those three words to root themselves into his core as much as they did but during some of the hardest moments he could remember Keith found himself repeating them in his head. It’s always Shiro’s voice. Patience does yield focus, and he’s become a better leader, a better pilot, and a better person because of those three words.

It means rather than pulling Shiro aside before the worst and most dangerous of their missions and adding to the weight on his shoulders, he waits until they’ve triumphed. 

It means not moving too fast, not bringing things up too early because they have the rest of their lives if they can pull this off. 

It means asking for a few extra days when Kolivan asks him to be the lead for the Marmora on their relief missions. 

It means taking this slow for Shiro’s sake, because he deserves that kind of care and kindness and Keith hasn’t found a limit on how much he’ll give Shiro if he’s capable.

When the war is over - _really_ over and not just a breath between brutal marathons, Keith waits even longer. Shiro’s been busy; his calendar is full morning to night, and the nights that were usually marked FREE TIME and meant _Keith_ have been not free. Understandable, Keith justifies; they’ve all been insanely occupied since everything ended and Keith can be patient. `Just reach out to me when you have a sec to breathe, Shiro, it’s fine.`

After nearly weeks of scattered minutes stolen together combined with too-loud, too-overwhelming (but good) group time, Shiro finally sends him a message: `I’m so sorry I’ve been all over the place. Just tell me when you have a free moment and we’ll get dinner. Undivided attention, promise`. 

The apology and acknowledgment are nice; Keith watches the hellscape Shiro’s calendar shift itself around to make room for them, _for him_ and ducks his chin, hiding his grin. When Shiro follows it up with, `I wanted to talk with you about some things anyway, so this works great. It’ll be nice to spend time one on one again`, Keith takes twenty minutes typing and deleting responses. 

`Looking forward to it`, he settles on and means it.

______

It’s hard to be patient or particularly focused leading up to Tuesday but Keith white-knuckles it until the night arrives and they’re seated on the reconstructed remains of a patio at a newly reopened restaurant, in a mostly-open part of town. Rebuilding has been slow but steady, and they have a grand total of three restaurants within a twenty-mile radius right now. This close to the Garrison they get fresh vegetables and it’s not mess-hall food. They’re helping the local economy by eating out, right?

Keith gets there early (okay, maybe not so patient) and sips coke from a glass that’s dinged to hell but not broken, just like the rest of them. 

“Hey, I hope you didn’t wait too long.” The table shifts and Shiro settles across from him, smiling. 

Shiro looks good, but then, he always does. He’s gotten rid of the white uniform and exchanged it for a gray-blue button-up and a black knit sweater rolled up his forearm. The effect, when combined with the glasses and five o’clock shadow, makes Keith’s stomach twist with want. It’s not new, but he’s still not used to acknowledging it rather than compartmentalizing.

“You look like a librarian. No, an accountant.” Keith lies through his teeth because it’s better than telling Shiro he looks ridiculously, absurdly hot. “Gonna talk to me about the budgetary concerns of the ATLAS?” 

“Thanks, you look great too,” Shiro laughs, unperturbed in the slightest as he settles in, forearm resting on the table lightly, Altean arm settled on his knee. They make bullshit small talk for a while, and it’s easy, easier than it has any right to be with anyone. Shiro slowly relaxes into his chair until his arm is on the armrest and he thumbs condensation off of his beer in lazy circles, watching Keith with an unreadable look if not for the smile. “So, I actually had a reason I wanted to talk to you. Out here, anyway.” 

Oh. Keith can’t manage to mask his surprise or the way his heart picks up a little bit, hopeful. There’s been something like potential between them for years. He’s sure that it’s not _just_ his imagination, but he’d always sort of assumed that he’d have to be the one to bring it up. 

He hadn’t been certain there _was_ anything until Shiro was gone and Keith had immersed himself so far into Black and the Astral plane that he _felt_ it, tangled up in a knot with everything else Shiro felt, white-hot and overwhelming but _confirmation. It wasn’t just him._ “Sure, shoot.” 

“We’re going to be rebuilding for years. Decades, realistically. It probably won’t be our generation that sees Earth return to anything like what we remember, but we’ll get to watch it change over time. I think…” Shiro trails off and tips his glass back and forth, the beer sliding from side to side without ever cresting the rim. “The ATLAS has a list of repairs and updates years long as we work on integrating all the new technology to make long-distance voyages possible. Not just that, but… Voltron isn’t necessary right now. Rebuilding is. Reclaiming what the Galra took from us, turning the negatives into something positive.” 

Shiro’s always been good with words. At one point after a (much shorter, more concise) speech from Keith, Lance had asked him where the hell _that_ came from and Keith had answered _I imagine I’m Shiro giving a speech, but it’s to Slav so it’s as short and clear as possible._

“So you want to focus on the rebuilding efforts?” Keith asks. It’s not what he’d thought, but it’s not a terrible idea, either. “What’d Iverson say?” 

There’s something about the look on Shiro’s face that makes Keith pause. He’s not sure what it is, but there’s something off and he has the abrupt realization that he might not like where this conversation is going. 

“It’s not just him, but they’re all right. Everything has been...non-stop the last few years. Maybe I _am_ due a break away from all of this. Some time to be normal, boring Takashi Shirogane, not former Paladin of Voltron, Captain of the ATLAS, prisoner of war, and whatever else. Just...me.” He doesn’t sound like he’s considering it, though. He sounds like he’s hedging, avoiding the actual point here and it’s uncharacteristic enough that Keith narrows his eyes. Is Shiro nervous? “Sorry. I thought I had this figured out, but I… well. That’s why I’m talking to you.” 

Keith preens, flattered, and plucks a slice of bread from the center of the table to smear butter onto. 

“I turned in my resignation this morning. I should have lead with that,” Shiro says nonchalantly enough that it takes Keith a moment to realize what he’s said. The bread gets crushed in his hand, butter smearing.

“You _resigned_ ,” Keith repeats in disbelief, belatedly wiping butter off his knuckles. “Effective when? _Why_?” 

“They want me to take a two-year leave, minimum. The world, the universe as we know it isn’t about to collapse in on itself anymore. Earth is rebuilding. Supply lines are steady, and Voltron isn’t needed right this moment. The ATLAS has a laundry list of repairs and enhancements to get her ready for the kind of travel Sam wants to do, but he wants time to be with his wife and kids. He has time to be home with them.” Shiro is horribly earnest as he leans across the table, but his tone is so gentle that Keith instantly tenses. “I resign now, but I can always come back later. It actually makes it easier for the accountants and everyone else, weirdly. And there’s - well, there’s Curtis.” 

Well, there’s Curtis, Shiro says like that’s a reason. Shiro says that like it’s a reason. Like _he’s_ a reason. Abruptly, everything snaps into focus. The late nights and mornings where normally Shiro was free that were suddenly occupied. Their morning training sessions halved if they were attended at all. The unfamiliar shirts that Keith _knows_ Shiro didn’t own beforehand but wore and laughed off where he got them. 

On the ship, before everything well and truly went to shit, Keith spent a couple nights with Allura, partially to talk about their respective pains in the asses, but also because Allura had more experience in political stuff than Keith could ever hope for. One night, they practiced his poker face with Allura telling him increasingly more and more absurd things until his lips didn’t twitch. 

It comes in handy now. Keith just goes still, face blank. “Was there a question there?” 

“...No, not exactly,” Shiro inclines his head, sheepish. “I just wanted to let you know I was sorry for how inaccessible I’ve been lately. With everything going on I haven’t kept up with you or anyone else like I should have and that’s something I have time to fix, now. I know I’ve missed our morning sparring or movie night with everyone more often than not, but I wanted to apologize for that. I’ll be better about it from here on out, I promise.” 

It’s the kind of earnest sweetness that’s all Shiro, all while he casually digs his heel into a part of Keith’s chest he didn’t know could ache this badly. This isn’t a betrayal, but it feels like one.

“That’s great,” Keith manages, debating the merits of just leaving. He needs an excuse to get away, to get his shit together, to duck out of here before he says something stupid. “I gotta piss.” 

“Oh. Uh, go for it. I’ll make sure no one drinks your beer.” Shiro smiles at him, warm and gentle, and Keith’s insides turn to dust.

Keith marches to the bathrooms, smacks the stall closed and goes to his knees in an instant, hands fisted in his hair. Overall, having a crisis over Shiro in a bathroom stall isn’t the worst way he imagined this going but this is pretty fucking awful. One hand slides out of his hair and he skims through recent texts intending to A) demand if Lance knew and B) demand an extraction but Kolivan’s is the most recent. 

`0600: It would be a small crew. You likely wouldn’t return within one of your Earth ‘years’. At the end we would reassess the route. Take the time you need to decide. Your mother suggested you may not wish to. We would understand.`

Keith stares a moment longer and thinks about the way Shiro’s face goes soft, the way his mouth shapes the word _Curtis_ , the same way he used to say Adam, the way he’s never said _Keith_ and responds: 

`I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow.` Then, he pockets his phone, splashes his face with cold water, and compartmentalizes until he can get through dinner. He has a friend to be happy for.


End file.
